Rainy Day

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The window is crying. Each drop eventually turns in to a small then larger tear,
then falls to the trees, waving goodbye to the old summer, and hello to the coming fall
and winter. Thee streaming tears of water flow down each window pane from one to the
next, like a tear that is never whipped from a crying face. The clouds also cry their liquid
tears down on the window making a soft pinging sound. Like small balls of ice pelting
against a windshield in a storm. The wind gusts in a visible white mist. The tears of both
the window and clouds move at an angel. Some stream in to puddles on the black asphalt.
Rippling like a stone thrown in to a pond with each drop. The wind blows harder and the
trees bow in reverence. One moves this way and that out of control. Like the wind is
punishing it. Bing slapped around as a mother or father would discipline a small child. Or
a raging alcoholic would abuse his wife or children. The lamp post out front is shaking or
quivering. It’s not as reverent as the trees that bend to the winds whim but stands tall and
strong defiantly. Saying “I will not be moved” even though it can’t help but cringe a little
at the winds bite. The grass and cement both just sit their. The grass is glutinous and takes
in the tears of rain to make it self grow. While the cement just takes it in collections. Not
absorbing it or moving it. It’s like a cold grave for each tear of rain. The dirt like the grass
just absorbs it and changes color, while after having its fill, leaves the rest to collect and
waste. The Tree is crying for mercy from the merciless wind. It slaps it around more, each
time harder then the last. All the window can do is cry and watch.
I can hear the tears slap against the asphalt. The cool wind nips at my unprotected
body. A strong gust of wind flaps my unbound hair to the left and right. Birds fly in a V
over head. The trees leaves snap and crack in the winds gust. I shake my head to get
dangling Hair out of my face. Everyone is complaining or taking. I can hardly see what I
am writing for my long hair is flowing in front of my face, I brush it aside. The pages flap
as I write. Megan comments about my hair flapping in the gust. I shake my hair like a
mighty lion’s mane. Victor is trying to keep warm. Now it is time to go inside for
warmth. I miss the rain. It made me thing about things. But now, it’s silent again.

Created: Jul 22, 2010

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TheRogueDirector Document Media